Mind journeys

All nature has a feeling

All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks

Are life eternal: and in silence they

Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;

There's nothing mortal in them; their decay

Is the green life of change; to pass away

And come again in blooms revivified.

Its birth was heaven, eternal it its stay,

And with the sun and moon shall still abide

Beneath their day and night and heaven wide. 

John Clare

This morning as I got up to make my first cup of tea, George Monbiot was on the radio, he was walking with Claire Balding and as I caught the last five minutes he was talking about the ecstasy of the natural world and experiencing the sheer vitality of life.  Where he was I don't know, probably in Wales in a valley, he likened it to a rain forest, the damp atmosphere, the ferns growing on the fallen trees took him back to  mesolithic times.  Suddenly I remembered a walk through Ebbor Gorge, the great rocky places of the Mendips, Burrington Combe and Cheddar Gorge. A place of magic the steep cliff like gorges, but Ebbor was somewhat different it also had the rain forest magic of tumbled trees and ferns.  A sunny open lit glade of meadowsweet shimmering in the shadows and light, great tumbled rocks that you had to climb over.  Except for Moss I was alone on this walk, cool in the shade of the trees but the day was hot, the path led upwards and then you looked down on a great mass of trees through which a rocky ridge ran through and in the far distance you could just see Glastonbury Tor.
Landscape or mindscape, which is it I wonder, of course 'escape, also has the same ending, this union with the natural world, perhaps I should learn to take these journeys again.  In a couple of weeks we go to Cornwall, firstly to see some megalithic wonders - King Arthur's Hall, a great square of prehistoric stones, strange it is not rounded, or are we looking at an medieval animal pound on the moors amongst the stone circles, who knows but the archaeologists have become interested, it just needs some dating evidence.
Then on to LS's cousin on the other side of Cornwall, and to explore things there, it will probably be my job to make an itinerary of things to see.  Have not been to Cornwall for years, when I was a child we used to take a cottage in Polruan, opposite Fowey, and I remember going out fishing for mackerel with my grandfather, in the evening we would go up the river in a fishing boat to a pub, and I can just remember the wild tangle of trees in the creeks there.

I used to take my daughter and her young son Tom plus my son Mark, there is only about 11 years difference between these two, for picnics to the Mendips, we even camped in the Forest of Dean, the car piled high with camping gear, two dogs, four people, the forest itself a cool place of trees and people using their leisure hours to walk, cycle or just brood. My son tired after his exams falling asleep most of the time, and that little creature below as we started to put up the tents, saying one of them was broken, no said I it is new but he was right and we had to go into Monmouth and hunt round for a camping shop so that we could  find and then laboriously fit a cord through that part of the tent, now he is at university studying criminology, time does fly.

Tom when he was little

Monday

I just love roses, this came through my email this morning, £20! for a rosebush, but what a feast for the eyes.

Now I am not a Chelsea Flower fan, the amassing of thousands of flowers and plants just confuses me, the spectacular garden layouts leave me cold, in fact I have not even bothered to look at the show on TV but I do like the old fashioned roses from David Austin.  I love a rambler tumbling over some trellising, maybe interspersed with a honeysuckle, wanton rampaging beauty, but of course there is the tying in, cutting down spent blooms, and the inevitable crossness as the long wands get tangled in hair and clothes...

Today monday, too many headaches at the moment, so I will note what gives pleasure in the garden, first of all we have 'the little brown creatures' in our garden, young starling fledglings and tiny balls of sparrows sit on the fence waiting for their mother to feed them seed.  The starling babes badger their poor mothers but are in the process of being taught..... Last night a call from next door,  one fledgling not being able to fly, we tried to catch it but it went into their double garage amongst a great mass of bikes and other things so the chase was given up and food left.  My doves still give great pleasure, the female, lay on a sunny lawn the other day, wings slightly spreadeagled to catch the sun, and the male gently preened her, of course it could have been the other way round.  Found a broken egg yesterday on the driveway, such untidy nest builders, bet it just rolled out.

Feathery fennel with its dainty bronze fronds uncurling sits above the grey of sage, whilst next door saladings compete for space in the green tubs.....

The new cranesbills have produced their flowers, one pale pink the other blue....

the cranesbill sits behind the demanding upturned faces of the pansies

My new little patch, (dug and planted on Earth Day) got given it because the lawnmower can't get round the bushes! now sports runner beans and some wild flowers seedlings.

Reading at the moment Madeleine Bunting's book called The Plot, a biography of a small piece of land that her sculptor father bought and then built a small chapel upon.  It is in Yorkshire, just off the A170 near Scotch Corner, and it is more a history book of the area.  Tales of the old sheep/cattle droving tracks as they were driven down to the larger cities, the men staying for a few days to spend their money, whilst the dogs were sent home to be fed by the local innkeepers as they travelled on their way.

To quote Herbert Read on the moors;

"Mountains I have no love for; for they are accidents of nature, masses thrown up in volcanic agony.  But moors and fells are moulded by gentle forces, by rain, water and wind and are human in their contours and proportions, inducing affection rather than awe"

Perhaps he should have gone on to say that caught up on the moors in stormy weather was perhaps not the best place to be, or indeed in snow, the prehistoric way marking stones that follow our favourite road across the moor tells a different tale.

A mullien finding itself overlooking the Somerset Downs.

Last of the photos

You have to read these three photos backwards, it is the emergence of the yellow dredger as it goes out to sea.  The bridge has to be opened and all foot traffic and cars wait while boats sail under. Great crowds of tourists pass over this bridge which connects the two sides of Whitby, and when it was closed last year for refurbishment people were bussed round over the new bridge. 

Strangely LS is homesick for Whitby, it does get into your blood this vivid little town, summer tourists we could do without; wander along the left hand side of the quay and your senses are assaulted with a 'Southend' atmosphere, and you cannot move for the crush of people.  Yet its charm of old cottages and yards and the jumble of houses that totter precariously over the quay is a reminder of times past.

The bridge opening

Matilda not pulling faces for the camera

Lillie, yes this is a normal going out outfit! always ready for the camera.

Two of my grandchildren, Ben has grown like all our male teenagers into the person who lives up in his room playing games. 

Blakes Wood and Bluebells

We had almost missed the bluebells in Blakes Wood, but they had appeared along with the stitch wort and yellow archangel, both happy woodland plants.  The growth is sumptuous, the colours of late spring so fresh  and newly formed.  Whenever you come across bluebells in a wood, the eye and imagination is caught by the dappled sunshine and that blue colour which is almost impossible to describe as it takes on a life of its own caught in the shadows of the trees.  

Stitch wort 

Yellow Archangel

Bluebells 

Bluebells, coppicing and shade

clear back and regeneration

North Yorkshire in late spring

A typical Yorkshire lane, smell the freshness of burgeoning leaves even if there is a sharp nip to the air.

Small woods everywhere, some with bluebells

Wind anemones on the bank with  ransoms below.

My migrating insect occasionally appears on the lense, the moor in all it rough state

Wade's Stone North

Curious sheep by the stone

This is my favourite nursery and proves you can grow flowers in the cold north. Old fashioned plants raised plus a  restaurant by the River Esk,  between Ruswarp and Sleights,take your cheque book they don't have a machine...

Flickr and kerfuffles

There is quite a stir in the realms of Flickr, they have changed the way your photostream comes up and most people are not happy, as my account is being renewed in June I cannot do anything really.   How to upload my latest photos; a long and circuitous method involves putting my photos on LS's computer, transferring them to Flickr and then back to my computer - joy, but still can't put them in folders.

Lastingham Church;

the chancel

Down in the crypt

Outside of church

the basilica

Cedd's Well, parts of which are from Rosedale

Last thoughts

We leave Whitby tomorrow, having to stay another day because the children need looking after as my son- in-law has to go in for a scan today in Middlesborough. Later on the agent's photographer will come to photograph the room I am typing in, the attic and Laura (Visit England) is also coming.  It has been fairly busy during our stay, hanging rails have been put up, smoke alarms and a new outside light.  There have been dramas, our  neighbour has had to go into hospital, and her husband (they have been married 57 years) kept an eye on, he has visited the Scarborough hospital every day, but everyone seems to pull together in this small community.  Last night a grandson came to visit the husband, he had not seen him for 5 years, so there are small good things happenings amongst all the upheaval.

Snapped the above painting which is in the gallery at the Museum in Pannett Park, it is a favourite of mine,  (must be because it reminds me of my two granddaughters) it is a slightly slushy sentimental rendition, think it was done by one of the Staithes group of artists.  Children barefoot, the mud path up to the rickety cottage, very much a picture of these old cottages that cling to the side of the coastal villages.
Little Lillie has fallen in love with Captain Cook so I must find her a book in her style on the subject, here she is reading an inscription in the park, with Matilda just about to fool around in the little fountain at the top, and then the wet consequences as later Lillie slips in. The other day after telling her mum that she has had a horrible six years of living and falling into the fountain was the worst event;) luckily she did not fall into the pond behind...... I should actually put a photo of her when she is fooling around which is most of the time, she is a true drama queen...

Before

After

Tall acanthus in the park

I love acanthus, if I remember correctly its seeds would burst out like a gun in the garden shooting them several feet away.  The leaves are of course its outstanding feature, we see them everywhere in classical architecture, saw them on the great pillars at Lastingham church.

Edit..........

Well the cottage has passed its test, lots of little ticks means I may get a star or two, my initial grumpiness with our Visit England representative has been put to one side.  Why? well her husband owns half a trawler, not doing any fishing at the moment because he is working for a scientific group who are checking out the Doggerland scheme of wind turbines, something i'm interested in.  It is to be the biggest turbine farm in the world and the misgivings that it is going to take a lot of money, consequences of putting the turbines in the sea will mean rusting, and the terrific amount of infrastructure to bring it back on land are adding up to another disaster.
And of course fishing is going to be affected as well, we learnt a bit about Whitby's departure from being a fishing port, it is sad, no fish market now and everyone eating cod and haddock with their chips when they should be eating other types of fish.  Apparently quite a lot of the fish in the shops is frozen at sea and docked at Peterhead something I did not know.
What did we fail at, well a wastepaper basket in the attic, and no pictures on the wall in the bedroom but we all agreed better to take time choosing something good than sling anything on the wall;)

Lastingham and Rabbit pie

Lastingham Church

Today we went back to Lastingham village, again to see the church of Cedd and to have rabbit pie but it was not on the menu, they sold frozen ones so we shall eat a pie tomorrow for tea.  Left Whitby in a mist and then ascended over the moors in a complete fog, so that we had to drive carefully for about 10 miles without another car in sight, until one came upon us unexpectedly - no lights and grey colour, just missed them.....

Descending into the dales and Rosedale the world turned magically into a beautiful spring day, thick clusters of cowslips, primroses, starwort all along the banks, and masses of other flowers - stunning, this place we both agreed is beginning to feel like home.  Arrived at the pretty (but expensive no doubt) village of Lastingham we went to the Blacksmith's Arms pub, its old and opposite the church.  Tankards line the ceiling, bright copper pans and bits and pieces adorn the fireplace.

There is a feeling of excitement as we enter the church and then go down to the crypt with all its Saxon stones laid out and I have written about it here, I think it is because Cedd in the 7th century, came to this lonely spot and decided to build an abbey, and the church today reflects this. But what a place to build something, in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the moors with a great ridge behind, strange but for all this it did not stop the Vikings from laying waste to the monasteries round here.

As I familiarise myself with the countryside, I realise that the places we have been looking at are near to each other, firstly Wade's Causeway or the Roman road, in actual fact goes straight to the Cawthorn Roman Camps and if you look at this map taken at Cawthorn Camps you can see how the landscape works, with Lastingham and Rosedale Abbeys in the distance.

These incense stones are Romans and are in the church, there use though is rather macabre, the soldiers, in some sort of rite were supposed to burn charcoal in them, if they refused, they were not Christian and therefore executed.

One of the plants we saw lining the banks in places was Angelica Archangel (I think) is a beautiful tall plant,  pale creamy white umbelliferus flowers, and this is one I took last year overlooking the harbour.

Alexander Angelica??

This photo echoes the landscape seen in the Cawthorn Camp illustration.

Tessa's sister Jan showing off

Jan at 14 weeks

This is a video of Jan  the collie bitch and the sister of Tessa who was flown to America and you can see why Tessa was so wanted.  Jan's video shows a a 14 week old puppy doing exactly what a trained collie would do though this is her very first time with sheep, it is extraordinary how grown up she is and knows exactly what to do.  She has a very proud breeder over the moon with his new protege, though Roy will not begin training her till she is 7/8 months old, doesn't look as if she needs much.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GfnVxCKqyY&feature=youtu.be

Catching up

Catching up... We went for the most glorious drive to find a prehistoric stone the other day, it is called Wade's Stone (north), it all began when we turned off the main road and followed one of those little lanes to the sea. Past muddy road farm houses, and then sharp downward travel amongst old woods, three fords we crossed.

The woods were in that old stage, trees falling over on their own volition, mossy green from the damp air and the faint haze of bluebells in the depths of the wood.  Wind anemones clung to the banks, not quite open but shaking their white heads in the faint breeze.  Ransoms on the verge as well, introduced LS to the taste and we brought some home, to be used sparingly in cooking - very sharp and garlicky. 

The stone we found easily, as the farmer and his friendly wife were just parked near the gate to the fields we had to walk through; instructions were don't take bags as the sheep will think you are coming to feed them.

The first field we walked through had the remains of a largish olive coloured egg, maybe pheasant, also little lamb tails.  Second field held the selfsame lambs and their mothers, nonchalantly lounging about, the lambs in pairs playing around the stone.  This stone has been restored (it fell over) by North York Moors organisation, and there is a companion stone about half a kilometre away, the South one, which we saw but did not walk up to.  Perhaps they are marking stones to the sea.  

Had to get back for a lunch date with my daughter and her husband, and we tried the food at Wetherstone, cheap with a drink thrown in, but not good the food, they need a better cook.

It is a shame I have no photos of the wild flowers to put on and not being able to put them together with my diary/blog means that I shall seriously think of a new computer soon.

Shamrock

This is Shamrock she came into the Animal Asia sanctuary in January with 5 other bears.  This is a bear that has been caged for most of her life and suffered pain through bile extraction.  She was encouraged out of her indoor enclosure by placing food tidbits hidden in various places.  What is she interested in? it's the sky, that marvellous blue thing above her head that fills her world of freedom as the food fills her belly.

As I have watched the photos of these poor maligned bears on facebook, the thing that is so impressive is their gentle natures as they adjust, sometimes after many years, to this new natural world outside the realm of their caged existences.

This a video of Peter, very reluctant at first to leave the shelter of  his indoor den, and the report by the sanctuary's vet Vic...

"After his tentative first steps Peter’s courage has grown with each passing day and he is now enjoying the whole area and what it has to offer. He’s moving log and rock piles and learning to forage for the goodies hidden by staff as he follows their scent around the enclosure.

“He enjoys stretching to retrieve food hidden by the team in log walls or on the firehose hammock. His steady character has served him well through the whole process of rehabilitation. His long body is also beginning to fill out and we are now getting a glimpse of a magnificent adult male bear he was born to be. He had his monthly weigh-in this week and is now a healthier 124 kg opposed to the 107 kg he was in January shortly after arriving. This gentle giant of a bear really is learning and experiencing that life can be good.”

This film, taken by Bear Team Supervisor Ai, captures Peter walking round his enclosure on a beautiful day, birds singing and butterflies fluttering - following a trail of treats laid out by staff trying to encourage him to forage as he explores. Peter is becoming increasingly brave - even doing his best to ignore an occasionally noisy neighbour in the next enclosure."

Penny Hedges

Weather here is so cold, as I suppose most of the country is..... well they did say that climate change could go one way or the other, obviously we are heading the other way!  Life is spent catching up on things to do, hanging rails for the bedroom are up, towel rails of course, one sits behind a beam and the other over a cupboard doorway, Laura (Visit England rep) has not visited though yet but the bookings are coming in and I doubt if we shall come back to the cottage this summer.

Last week we missed an old ceremony down by the quay, the Penny Hedge, the following Wiki explains it, 

it feels like a  slightly earlier 'Celtic' tale with the boar seeking shelter in the sanctity of a monks hut, but the ceremony still goes on and the wattle fence is still built, apparently according to my daughter when the tide is out you can still see the old hedge of last year, did Canute inspire this tradition I wonder?

The Penny Hedge is an ancient tradition in the English coastal town of Whitby in Yorkshire.

The legend dates back to 1159, when the Abbot of Whitby imposed a penance on three hunters, and on their descendants for all time, for murdering a hermit at Eskdaleside.

The hunters were following a wild boar near Whitby. When the boar took refuge in a hermitage at Eskdaleside, the nobles set upon the monk living there, who had closed the door on the hounds. Before he died, the monk consented to forgive them and spare their lives if they and their descendants would enact a penance.

Each year, on the eve of Ascension Day, on the shore of Whitby, they had to construct a short hedge from stakes woven together, able to withstand three tides. The instructions stipulated that a knife "of a penny price" was to be used.

The ceremony is still performed in Whitby every year on Ascension Eve, by the occupiers of the land formerly owned by the Abbot. A horn is sounded and followed by the cry "Out on ye! Out on ye! Out on ye!"

Whitby Abbey